


love doesn't matter in the mojave

by Peqoud



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Arcade Gannon, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hard of Hearing Courier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, not in character, sort of! its not entirely obvious ig but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25857442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peqoud/pseuds/Peqoud
Summary: The dull light of the room is all but reflected in the lens of the Courier's helmet, and Arcade figures for a moment that this was what God's were founded on.
Relationships: Arcade Gannon/Courier, Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	love doesn't matter in the mojave

"Doc?"

"Oh, hm? Yeah?" He turns around on his chair, caught in the bright headlights of the Courier's eyes. Or, more so, the red sheen of his goggles. He's never known the true colour behind them, but the obnoxios hue gives him the courage to wonder. Focusing on them takes some of the shock out of his system. "Yeah, wow, I've, uh, not been called that in a while. What's, uh-" Arcade takes a second, and he nervously breathes into the balled up fist of his right hand. "-What's up?"

[Perception 20 - His cheeks are wet.]

"...Were you crying?"

"Pfft. What? No, why would I- No." Arcade scoffs, dejectedly, and he looks away. He dabs the corners of his eyes with his sleeves, thumb poked under the white hem to dry them, his free hand just about holding his glasses up. "What have _I_ got to cry about? Nothing, exactly." And, eventually, he's turning to face him again.

[Perception 25 - In fact, his eyes are still wet, too.]

"That's not true." The dull light of the room is all but reflected in the lens of his helmet, bright instead of miserable, and Arcade figures for a moment that this was what God's were founded on. Some metallic reverence, some chrome plated figure to worship. Six speaks up once more and says, "You've got a lot on your conscience," in a way that makes Arcade feel known, feel recognised. As if all his life he's been searching for something - someone - to make him feel understood, as if his life revolved around more than just his research, more than just getting himself hurt to save others.

Arcade's looking at his feet as he feels his throat dry up unnaturally, constricting, almost. It's hard to breathe knowing his eyes are on him, but it's more than just disdain for eye-contact. There's something in the back of his mind that tells him he only ever wants to be seen by him. The Courier speaks again, just in the midst of Arcade's thoughts racing, and asks, quietly, "What's bothering you?"

A minute - it takes a minute for Arcade to dreg the courage up to speak. He's picking at a loose thread in his pants by the time his nerves have settled enough to even move. "Nothing. Thoughts. Just, uh, thoughts. About things. Not very interesting… things." He coughs into his sleeve as he looks away briefly, attempting to undermine his feelings. Usually it worked, and usually he wouldn't be pressed on it - someone putting a barrier up like that was difficult to fight against. But he found that, today, despite his protestings, he wouldn't mind his defenses failing for once. "It'd... take too long to explain," he swallows.

"I've got time." The echo of his helmet's dulled as he takes it off, as his lips catch on the edge of metal and rubber casing. The fraction he hears of his natural voice is enough to still his shaking knee (it always got like that when he was nervous). In his hurting hands, the helmet is cradled carefully. And weirdly, Arcade finds himself calmed by the sight of it, as if he can imagine his own head held by those hands instead. Thoughts like that - if Arcade was brave enough, he'd entertain the idea of Six indulging him.

Six sets it in between his thighs as he sits down next to Arcade. The metal reverberates as it scuffs the seat; it's an old bench with no backing, pulled into the tent only recently, and under the added weight it creaks too. Despite that, they both feel weightless. Arcade's knuckles are bare white as he grips onto the bench to keep himself situated, to keep himself from drifting away; both physically and mentally.

And Arcade laughs, because he knows Six doesn't, and yet he's making time for him of all people. Between the hours and days that tallied up trekking through the Mojave, the Courier hadn't spent a second to himself. When the threat of being attacked is too high to rest, well, Arcade supposes it's only natural. He doesn't grow tired of it, either. Helping the people of the Wasteland seemed to renew him, envigorate him. It was entirely selfless (and that's another thing Arcade admires about him). Six never slept, Six never ate, Six never felt (pain, love, it was all the same) - except when he was with him. Arcade figured himself lucky to get to see this side of him, to be one of the only few that got to touch him, one of the only few that got the privilege to leave a mark on him that wasn't a scar for once.

Arcade cocked his chin up, finally, his shoulders still slightly slumped as he eyed the man next to him from the corner of his peripheral. He sighs, actually sighs, with all the weight of something he's been holding back for awhile. It lets the tension out of his body, his thumb coming to rub soothingly at the gap between his bottom lip and jaw (and he pretends not to notice Six staring, though his eyes are focused on his mouth entirely - it could just be the fact he relies on lip reading these days to hear, but Arcade can't help but think he wants to kiss him too). He pulls it away, brings his hand up then, to accentuate his solemn words as he finally gives up and gives into the desire of wanting to be known by him. Only by him. They're of the same cut, of the same hopeless calibre, and yet even Six can't deny himself of what his jaw aches for.

War was impending, but it seemed so far away when his knee was gracing his.

**Author's Note:**

> @panellefruit on tumblr and twitter. say hi!


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